The dry tears he wept in the silent car
as the accelerator made a hollow roar
and his wide glass eyes stared down the solemn midnight road
His frail hands trembled
as he pulled into the empty lot
he remembered how he had been young just last week.
And as he climbed the echoing concrete steps
he flew back to the endless nights atop this very roof
where words and wine had once flowed unstoppered
And where he had met a young girl
And lived a fiery life, if just for the night
And smelled perfume against the crisp air
But how far away he was
standing lone among his ghosts
as the wind blew and chilled him to the bone
Instinctively his hand went to his unfamiliar cheek
How wrinkled and worn was this old man's face
Where fires had once burned in the city-windows around
All was now dark
The air smelled of a cigar's smoke and he felt nauseous
and caught in his eye the hospital, a beacon in his mind
And turned away as he thought of fallen angels
And fresh tears ran down his very old face
Which surely was young just last week
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 12:19 AM UTC
Abandoned dusty in the attic
A shadow flitters around the edge
Caressing the smoky veil of glass,
Searching to remember his first waking moment,
When he had become but a phantom
Of a man-
But alas, it had been always.
Silently knocking on the wall
Which holds him from the other side-
You saunter by and blink
And shun the one moment you could have seen
And he is forgotten from the ones who never knew him
And the fabric
Runs like soot over his world.
His eyes see but the ghost of the substantial,
His world imaginary staring through a window of glass
From which shines an impossible prism
Cutting a path through the smoky din
The dream-dust settles, making it but a circle
Glowing in the light
That he could live in another’s eyes.
That longing glare barely lights a beam
In the dusty sandstorms
That swirl unknowing in the upstairs abyss.
A cobweb of days long forgotten
Spells out a lost map of parts none traveled
And bone-dead
The shadow glimpses your heart and shudders.
Lost skies of fallen stars none found
The petty grains sifted through
As if you never thought to look
For the moon-bright glimmered tear
In the featureless field of silver what you only saw
Was you
And the night sky could weep no longer.
*In between the hope
And the reality
Falls the shadow-*
The mirror shatters.
Crushing glass slashing shards into the air
Shrieks erupt as the phantasm is
For the first time known,
The storm that had been hidden in that one-way mirror
Now unleashed, yet
You avert your eyes as if it was still a pane of glass.
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 10:11 PM UTC
The planet it wobbles a lonely path
On the background of distant stars
So constant and locked into their relative places-
They did seem so very happy.
It leaves its solemn red footprint
On the pitch black night
The astronomer's eye is caught by a passer-by.
Embarrassed at his distraction he turns back to his telescope
And cannot see the faded mark it left behind
Only the endless void
And he raps his knuckles on the railing wondering what he had been looking for.
And there is a glint of gold in the evening sky and blue smoke from a chimney-top
And the sharp-dressed men and women in their black jackets
Are too focused on the sidewalk
Cracked, Beige-gray,
It was recently cleaned for their viewing pleasure
And it leads them to their cubicles and coffee-shops.
And then their houses where they burn away the night in small silent hearths
And awake again the next morning with each minute planned ahead
Only to find out the schedule they had followed-
and adhered to the entire day-
Was not written for them
or for anyone
but just as another man's joke meant for nobody else to see
The toil she felt in the armchair constructed,
such a constant lock in place
that she collapsed
and they looked admiringly as she had worn herself out working hard at her job all day-
And I looked at the map scrawled at my feet in a different man's handwriting
"I'm lost," I said after a pause.
"I do feel rather lost"
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 12:51 AM UTC
*Fatefully falling
He grabs the string
and pulls everything down.*
A spyglass of forgotten gems-
won in a rigged lottery
in the days before he was awake-
spies a land that has not yet been ravaged
in the pitch-black starless sky
not yet been taken
by the drilling crushing
by the empty words and hollow promises
The dreams do not prey on tonight.
They leave that vulnerable cardiac node
that empty dried well
for a delectable snack
in the times when the hollow men
should not feel so alone-
*Silently drowning
He grabs the rope
and pulls every hope down.*
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 12:31 PM UTC
that crystal flow seen to all
but blind in its clear folly
the muddy stream it gurgle out
a fool to them equally
and the sweet stream honeyed
while meanders it do cut a path
the parasite hidden by the water’s lure
is known to us at last
the shallow stagnant pool
-though they say it do flow softly-
seems to fear to valley below,
though on its perch it be quite lofty
trudge he must and trudge he do
though it prove to be a hindrance
the weary traveler stop for drink
and punished for his insolence
and though the glacial spring do seem
to mirror those truthful singers
they parched bend to taste the trickle
but it slips right through their fingers
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 1:19 AM UTC
The incessant calm
the roaring silence.
A mystic bell tolls its portent,
and the world uncoils like a spring
and collapses like thunder on a summer day
The shock of cold strikes my muscles,
defibrillating my comatose brain into a primal state
as I feel the water suspend me, if only for a moment
The rushing adrenaline breaks its mental dam and seizes control
My legs a motor in the tides,
my body an arrow from Apollo's bow arcing towards the crystalline surface
I break the barrier into air, it shatters like glass.
And then, I fight, clawing like a crazed animal.
The primal struggle to survive, to battle my existence
to take on the entire world...
collides with my thinking mind at once, as I shrug off the weight of breathlessness
The primal and the intelligent forcing me forward
threatening to rend my body in two!
My world inverts, and does a tipsy dance
The struggle between our dreams and our reality
Our fight and how tired we truly are
Hits me with a wall of realization
I fight on, my fury a mad race to break myself
to surpass the limits I set for myself
and truly see the world
The moment hits, a single tap on the wall an explosion that sends my body reeling
and my mind blinks and returns to its natural state
I breathe new air and clear my head,
yet search as if trying to remember the dream I just awoke from
And the world is a clutter
And the roars are silent
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 3:00 AM UTC
So close,
yet separated by the endless plain artificial
our minds create an expanse between the paradises of our imagination and the struggles of reality.
It is a mental prison that we fabricate to avoid risk,
but in doing so we avoid the reward that comes along-
for even a failed endeavor is a success in that it was an endeavor at all.
Why do we never take exceptional leaps,
even when they are from a sinking ship?
Why do we cling to the submerging lifeboat
rather than test the waters, and test our own true capabilities?
Change is such a menacing figment that we impose upon the natural transience of the world.
The only time change is made is to protect the status quo.
Because we are human.
Because walking into a dark cave, just to explore the wonders within,
is not something that is in our nature.
I dare to wonder
what are in the concealed depths of the world-
I know beyond the surface wonders exist far more mystical than those I place at the end of my unreachable expanse.
But I can’t take the plunge alone-
thinking about the strangling darkness clouds thoughts of the hidden light.
My nature gets the better of me as well.
But still I dare to dream,
and hope one day I can surpass this,
confront this,
and become a truly transcending mind
past the mundane into the uncomfortable place where humans dare not go-
because it is new, and scary,
and doesn’t fit with our delusional fantasies that our suffering,
our endless strides to an unreachable goal, are noble.
We are destined to suffer as a general population because we put our goal before us,
and convince ourselves we can’t move towards it.
But some will do the unthinkable and march to society’s vision of ridiculous endeavors,
and once in a while, someone achieves the goal-
the goal to go for your goal,
whether you taste the fruits of your labor or are left a tragic failure.
At least tragedy is cathartic,
at least it means you tried to thwart your nature.
Maybe living a double nature of hope and tendency is impossible, and maybe it destines me to fail.
But if I do, it’s not I that is the loose part in the machine of society.
Maybe it means I was the only one that was truly free from it.
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 2:39 AM UTC
I sit at the table too high for me,
Slipping the poison down my throat,
Sewn shut my mind through mouth,
As I feel the darkness bloat.
Yet I know it’s due to me alone,
My hand the wretched doer of the stab
Which rends my heart at my bequeath,
Yet how can I help who I am?
The invisible flame all too bright,
Casts my shadow invoking fear,
I willingly forget not to shun
The things I held most dear.
My mind falls deeper into the mire,
Shallower with each sinking death,
I tell them to ignore the silent screams
Though I cry for help under my breath.
And though these echoes are not heard,
They crash and boom and threaten to break
Innocence is swallowed whole again,
As I stand chained at the hand of fate.
A different man I stand today
Than the one who failed once before,
Yet I fail again, this time completely,
It is being me I must endure.
For leaping only leads to falling,
First time jumping interceded by floor,
Sitting in shame that isn’t mine
How can I hope to jump ever more?
I ask with a resounding
Question “Who am I?”
Praise from the edges of my view,
But never from the distant sky
Yet somehow the light appears ahead,
The rescuers lifting me from the shadows within
How could I have sought this ugly fate,
When there were others bright that could’ve been?
I’ve wasted time on distant stars
So shining, beckoning in my mind.
Why should I wait longer to start the rest of my life?
It’s time I left that path behind.
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 11:22 AM UTC
Just blinks of the universe on the skin of a pale blue dot
hovering at the edge of a swirling miasma of a myriad stars
We search for our place; let down by our lack of role in the grand scheme of existence
But only because we value ourselves too highly.
There is a beauty in the void; a renewal of spirit in acknowledging that we are not bound to a fate,
that we can go in any direction- that we may live our lives
without them simply being a test. There is no plan.
But who wants to live a planned life?
We search for the meaning that is not there to console ourselves in the cold reaches of the universe.
We find nothing- nothing but our own desperation.
We exist. Nothing more, nothing less than simple existence for us to interpret as we will.
That’s enough for me.
With this in mind, our lives- while still just phantasms fading from the skin of a pale blue dot
hovering at the edge of a swirling miasma of a myriad stars, gone before the universe’s eternity even begins to tick- have a purpose.
No longer are we bound to an eternity based on a mere shadow of a life, but now we can live! We can be free!
Our lives are ours to make what we will. To discover, explore, learn, to savour, to love… to leave the world better than we entered it, yet we do it not to please the cosmos but for our own enrichment. This is the significance of our lives.
Carpe diem, sieze the day: because it is one of the approximately 29 219 your being will ever have. Our minds are but the transient states of the universe, convening for a brief touch before going their separate ways- use that moment. It is all you are.
Let’s be reckless, do amazing and stupid things together for the brief cosmological second we share. Life flashes away as the universe’s heart mechanically beats.
Life is fleeting, we are sad, but there is nothing more than life- so let us live
Even though we are simply accidental spectres of thought on the skin of a pale blue dot
hovering at the edge of a swirling miasma of a myriad stars
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 11:19 AM UTC
The arrangement of photons hits my eyes
Like a blast
For it could be any- it is just light
But no, it is not.
It is a face I see
Not just any,
Nay, not of the ordinary,
And yet it could be any.
Not in terms of its source, its literal transmission
Of the image- that is only you represented.
But it is more.
It is a vessel of life to my eyes,
Every glimpse a thumping rhythm and racing monologue
For it is not just the light reaching my eyes-
No, it could not just be any-
For it is you
And everything you are
And therefore it is
Like nothing I have ever seen.
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 11:18 AM UTC